


Tear in My Heart

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Dating, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Road Trips, Texting, mystrade, serious conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After driving back to London with Mycroft, Greg Lestrade finds himself in a relationship with the British Government.  Will the budding relationship survive disaster, emotional baggage, and Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song "Tear in My Heart" by twenty one pilots. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nky4me4NP70
> 
> This is my first Mystrade fic, so I hope everyone enjoys it!

Mycroft sighed deeply, looking at the car in front of him.  He didn’t normally drive, but his driver had been injured the day before, so he wasn’t able to drive home.  He glanced at Lestrade, who had driven up with him and needed a ride home.  Lestrade looked dead on his feet and Mycroft rubbed his face absently, resigned to his fate.

It had been a hellish week.  Sherlock and John had run off to cause trouble in some small village in the north and Mycroft had, due to the sensitive nature of his work (which had to be done even when he was saving his impetuous brother), thought it prudent to drive up to help them instead of taking a train.  There was never enough privacy on trains.  Not sure if Sherlock would welcome his help, he brought Lestrade along to act as a buffer.  Any personal or romantic interest he might have in Lestrade had absolutely nothing to do with his decision to invite the delicious, er, diligent man to join him in rescuing Sherlock and John.  Of course he couldn’t be interested in Lestrade that way, the man was practically a colleague, if you took a broad enough view of the word “colleague”.  Things had gone badly from the start, with John and Sherlock being arrested for robbery, which caused Mycroft quite a headache.  The last three days had been the worst, the four of them getting very little sleep as they rushed to find a murderer before he murdered again.  They had succeeded, Lestrade had handed the man and evidence over to the appropriate authorities, and Mycroft John and Sherlock home on the train.

“We should go, mate,” Lestrade grunted, bringing Mycroft’s mind back to the present.  “Do you drive?  We can split the drive if you’d like, but I need a rest first.”

Mycroft smiled.  “That sounds like a plan.”

“Do you want me to ride up front with you?  Only it sounds like fun being chauffeured around by Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft suppressed a laugh.  “I would rather enjoy the company, but if you insist…”

“Nah, I’d rather sit up there with you,” Lestrade said, stumbling as he headed for the front passenger door.

Once they were settled and Mycroft had sent word to his assistant that they were on their way, they set off for the drive.  They chatted easily as they drove, Mycroft enjoying a conversation that didn’t require any effort on his part.  Nearly all of his conversations were battles and those that weren’t were small talk.  With Lestrade, he could talk about all manner of subjects without needing to outwit the man or embarrass him.  It was refreshing to have a light, comfortable acquaintance to share the drive.

There was a lull in the conversation and Mycroft glanced over at Lestrade.  Lestrade was slumped over, his face pressed against the window, snoring lightly.  Mycroft couldn’t suppress his smile.  Over the past few years, since attaining his “minor position”, he had had very little friendships and certainly had not been friendly enough with anyone to find himself in a situation like this.  He supposed the polite thing to do was to keep driving and wait for Lestrade to awaken naturally.

He let cast his mind over the past week, filing all necessary information away in the pertinent places.  After a few moments, he caught himself cataloging only things that involved Lestrade.  He glanced over at the other man curiously.  He understood that he enjoyed their conversations, but lately he had been very preoccupied with the man.  It wasn’t like him to let a person interest him so much, so he wondered what was the cause of it.  Lestrade was certainly ordinary enough, not particularly brilliant or attractive.  He wasn’t ordinary at all, though.  He may not have been a genius, but he was brilliant and he was so attractive that Mycroft sometimes felt tongue-tied around him.  His brain told him that his growing attachment was irrational, but he couldn’t help himself.

While he was lost in his reverie, he hit a pothole in the road.  Lestrade grunted, shifted, and muttered something and Mycroft froze.  He didn’t want to wake Lestrade, the man clearly needed a rest.  Mycroft forced his attention back to the road, which very badly needed some work.  He swerved to avoid another hole, glancing to make sure that Lestrade didn’t stir again.  Satisfied that he wouldn’t disturb his friend, Mycroft took care to avoid all of the potholes.

“This is absurd,” Mycroft muttered to himself after a few minutes, during which he had to swerve at least a dozen times.  “Do they never repair the damned roads?”

Mycroft had never considered the state of the roads.  He rarely drove himself, so he had little experience seeing them, but he supposed that he would know if the roads were bad by riding along in the car.  “Apparently not,” he said as he swerved to avoid another one.  The roads were not exactly within his purview, but he resolved to ensure that something was done about this particular stretch of road, as least.

They were nearing London some time later, when Lestrade cleared his throat, making Mycroft look at him.  “I can’t believe you let me sleep all this time.”

Mycroft shrugged, turning his eyes back to the road.  It would be unseemly for him to stare at the rumpled man, not to mention dangerous.  He was driving, after all.  “You seemed to need the sleep.  It was no trouble.”

“Don’t you need sleep?  You got less than I did this week.”

“I’m accustomed to sleeping very little.  You, however, need a minimum amount to function.  I decided that your need was greater.”  He didn’t add that he had enjoyed watching Lestrade, but he thought it.

“Would you like me to drive the last bit?  I feel great.”

Mycroft managed to restrain himself from saying “You look great,” but he couldn’t stop the smile.

“What’s so funny?” Lestrade asked with a grin.  “I didn’t say anything embarrassing in my sleep, did I?”

“No, you were a perfect gentleman.  I was just considering the trip.  I enjoyed it immensely.”

“I knew you were as mad as your brother.  Though I suppose I’m just as mad, because I had a great time too.”  He hesitated before continuing, “Hopefully the next time we go out of town together, there won’t be any murders or family members, though.”

Mycroft nearly lost control of the car.  Next time?  He had never imagined that Lestrade would have enjoyed spending time with him.  He wasn’t sure how to respond, afraid of misunderstanding the situation.  Not only was he unused to friends, having romantic entanglements was completely unfamiliar to him and he didn’t want to mistake friendliness for flirting.  
“Oh?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.  It seemed like a safe course of action.

“Oh yes, I’d like to have you all to myself next time.  And don’t worry, I’ll avoid all the potholes so you can sleep, too.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At work today I decided to slack off and write this, so...enjoy!

Greg stared at his phone, willing it to ring.  Ever uncooperative, it didn't make a sound and he dropped it onto his desk and turned back to his paperwork.  It had been a week since his road trip with Mycroft Holmes, which had ended with some very promising flirting.  He wasn't sure if he should call Mycroft and ask him out or if he should wait and let Mycroft make the first move.  Had the invitation to help save Sherlock counted as a move?  Greg didn't think so.  He had dated a few people since his divorce, but none of those people were Mycroft bloody Holmes.  While Greg normally considered Mycroft a friend, the brilliant, gorgeous man could not have intimidated Greg more when it came to a romantic relationship.  Greg had never been interested in someone so powerful or so hard to read.  He was mostly sure that Mycroft was interested -- the man had avoided every pothole so that Greg could get some sleep.  No one was that nice without a reason, especially not people who secretly run the entire country.  Greg wasn’t sure how to act with Mycroft; he was usually the dominant person in the relationship but Mycroft clearly enjoyed being in control of everything.

After pretending to work for a few moments, Lestrade sighed and picked up his phone again.  He didn't think he could concentrate until he knew if something was going to happen and he couldn't count on Sherlock doing something rash again so soon -- he never worked around Greg's needs, even when that need was for Sherlock to be reckless.  Unsure of the proper calling etiquette (he'd never called the British government before), he decided on a text.  A text was safe.  If Mycroft wasn't interested, he could always ignore it and if he responded unfavorably, Greg could delete it and pretend it never happened (well, until the next time he saw Mycroft, but he could figure that out if it happened).

_Had a good time last week.  Hopefully Sherlock goes somewhere tropical next time so we can have a holiday in the sun.  --Greg Lestrade_

There.  That was a good text.  Neutral and joking, nothing too hopeful or flirty.  It must have been okay, because there was a reply almost immediately.

_I rather enjoyed myself as well.  I doubt it would be a holiday while chasing after my brother, unfortunately.  We may have to find another excuse to visit the tropics.  --Mycroft Holmes_

Greg smiled.  He had plenty of excuses for a holiday with Mycroft, but none of them were appropriate enough to say in a conversation this early on.

_I'm sure clever lads like us can come up with something.  --GL_

He considered the use of a winking face, but, not being a fourteen-year-old girl, he decided against it and sent the text emoticon-less.  He put his face in his hands and took a moment to calm his nerves.  He was nearly shaking, with fear or anticipation he wasn't sure.  He had dated a bit, but he hadn't been seriously interested in any of those people.  They were fun for a few weeks, but he hadn't enjoyed spending time with anyone as much as Mycroft.  He wasn't sure that he had ever enjoyed spending time with his ex-wife as much as he did Mycroft.

A response took considerably longer this time.  Greg had given up waiting and turned back to his computer, trying to force his brain back to work.  Perhaps Mycroft wasn't interested after all.  He must have just been trying to be friendly, forced to spend time with Greg because of his utility.  Ah well.  That last bloke he dated had been fun, maybe he could--

The phone's text alert tone went off, making Greg jump.

_Unfortunately, my schedule won't allow for another pleasure trip so soon.  Perhaps something shorter in duration.  A dinner date perhaps?  --MH_

Greg grinned, typing out a response and sending it before he could second guess himself.

_Fantastic idea.  You just name the date, time, and location and I'll be there.   --Greg_

_Friday night, eight o'clock?  I'll pick you up.  --Mycroft_

Greg glanced at his calendar.  Friday was day after next and he didn't have any plans.  Work could always interfere, but that was no reason to avoid making plans.

_I'll be ready, barring any work-related catastrophes.  --Greg_

With that resolved, Greg was finally able to relax and focus on his work.  He and Mycroft continued texting for most of the afternoon, until a meeting dragged Greg away from his phone.  
  
***  
  
Sinking into his armchair at home, Greg closed his eyes and thought about the time he had spent with Mycroft.  The previous week was the most memorable, particularly when Greg had been jolted awake in the car by a pothole on the ride home.  Too tired to move, he had begun to drift off back to sleep, when he felt the car swerve.  He opened his eyes a fraction to see Mycroft swerve again to avoid another pothole, then look at Greg anxiously and finally seemed to be cursing the road.  Greg was touched by the attempt to make him comfortable and fell asleep again feeling truly happy.

Thinking back on that trip, Greg couldn't help but smile.  He didn't think that anyone had ever cared about his comfort enough to avoid potholes so he could sleep.  Being of a generally suspicious nature, he had never trusted anyone as easily as he had trusted Mycroft, a fact which surprised him.  He had never expected to like or trust Mycroft, especially not at their first meeting, during which Mycroft threatened him and tried to scare him.  Greg had worked too hard to attain his position as Detective Inspector to allow himself to be bullied by someone like Mycroft, though, and he argued back, which made Mycroft smile.  The mysterious man in the suit vanished, replaced by an approachable, if a little strange, man who was worried about his little brother.  Since then, Greg and Mycroft saw each other occasionally and Greg always enjoyed the meetings.  Greg knew that he saw a side of Mycroft that most people didn't and he made sure to treat the gift of Mycroft's friendship with the respect it deserved.

Greg pulled out his phone and opened the most recent text from Mycroft, sent while Greg was tied up in his meeting.

_Enjoy your meeting.  I'm expecting a full report of any daydreaming you do regarding our planned assignation.  --M_

He grinned and thought about a reply as he busied himself making dinner.

_Lots of daydreaming.  Nothing appropriate to send over an unsecured channel.  Will leave self-destructing recording of material in usual spot.  --G_

_How many times must I tell you, Gregory?  I simply occupy a minor position in the government.  I am not a spy.  And if I were a spy, you're hardly being discreet.  --M_

_You sure know an awful lot about discretion for someone who isn't a spy.  I've only ever been called 'Gregory' when I've been naughty.  --G_

_And you haven't been naughty? --M_

Greg chuckled to himself.  It had become clear during their earlier conversation that neither of them were very good with flirting through text messages, but they both kept trying.  They weren't the kind to admit defeat, especially when they wanted to make a good impression.

_Not yet, but I might be encouraged.  What did you have in mind?  --G_

The response took so long to come that Greg started to worry he had made some kind of mistake.  He didn't want to scare Mycroft off now that things were going really well.  Finally Mycroft responded and Greg breathed a sigh of relief.

_I have many, many things in my mind, my dear Detective Inspector.  --M_

_Care to share any?  --G_

_Not at this juncture.  But I assure you that all will be revealed in due time.  --M_

_That sounds promising.  --G_

_Oh, it is.  Unfortunately, I now have a meeting to attend, so I will be unable to reply for the next several hours.  --M_

_Several hours?  It's already eight.  How late do you work?  --G_

_Very late, some nights.  Such is the nature of my work.  I'm sure you understand unpredictable schedules. --M_   
_I suppose I do.  Well, good night then.  I enjoyed chatting with you. --G_

Greg waited for a response for a few minutes and when none came, he figured that Mycroft was already in his meeting.  
When he woke up the next morning, there was no text waiting for him and he was a little disappointed.  He readied himself for work as normal, reminding himself that he had the next night in front of him and all the possibilities that entailed.  When he arrived at his office, there was a crowd around his door.

“What’s all this?” Greg asked, pushing through the crowd.

“Someone has an admirer, it seems,” Sally Donovan said with a big grin.  “Or someone is marking territory.”

Greg stared at his office.  There were several large vases full of tropical flowers on his desk.  He grabbed the card that was attached to the largest and read it:

_I also enjoyed our chat.  Until tomorrow night…  --M_

Greg sat down at his desk, shaking his head and chuckling.  He wasn’t sure who was more mad: Mycroft for sending the flowers or Greg for loving them.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any typos or errors (and point them out for me to fix, if you want), I haven't had a chance to properly reread this chapter but I wanted to get it posted. Thanks for reading!

Mycroft drummed his fingers on his desk and glanced at the clock.  It was 6:30 and he had an hour and a half before he needed to pick Gregory up.  He had left his office early to prepare; looking back, it may have been too early, as he now had over an hour before he had to leave and he was just waiting with nothing to do.

He used a small key on his watch chain to open a drawer in his dek and pulled out a file.  The entire file was in his memory, but he enjoyed having a paper copy to peruse at his leisure.  He flipped through the pages, smiling at the memories.  The file held records of every time Mycroft and Gregory had met, starting with the first time, when Gregory had stood up to Mycroft.

 

_Gregory had been ordered to attend an important meeting, which Mycroft held in the office he used for intimidation.  It was richly decorated and furnished, with a very large, old desk that Mycroft sat imperiously behind.  After being made to wait for nearly thirty minutes, Gregory was invited to enter the office and take a seat._

_Mycroft looked at Gregory over the the top of his reading glasses, surveying him.  It was his favorite trick: it usually gave the impression of being found lacking and made people uncomfortable.  He studied Gregory for several long minutes, being sure to steel his expression.  Gregory was even more attractive in person than he had been in the CCTV pictures, which Mycroft hadn't thought possible._

_"If you'd like, I can provide you with a picture so you can waste your own time and I can get on with things," Gregory said with no trace of a smile._

_Mycroft was taken aback and wasn't able to completely hide his shock.  No one had spoken to him like that in years, not since he had attained his current position.  He cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly, speaking in a cool, dangerous voice.  "We are here to discuss Sherlock Holmes, a man whose acquaintance I believe you have recently made."_

_Gregory's eyes narrowed.  "What do you want with him?"_

_Mycroft was pleased with this reaction.  Gregory was already protective of Sherlock, which set Mycroft's mind at ease about this new association.  Mycroft was less than thrilled that Sherlock wanted to be a detective all of a sudden, though he had noticed that his brother's drug use had decreased since he had started hanging around the Detective Inspector._

_"Sherlock Holmes is an extraordiary individual.  I want to ensure that his talents are not being underestimated."_

_"Obviously he's extraordinary.  He's the most brilliant man I've ever met.  He's a git, but he`s amazing.  Though you still haven't explained your interest in him."_

_"I have an interest in his well-being.  That is all you need to know."_

_"And who the bloody hell are you?  You summon me here without an explanation and now you're what,_ ordering _me to work with him?"  Gregory stood angrily._

_"I am simply a civil servant, my title is irrelevant.  What is relevant is that you have an opportunity to take advantage of one of the greatest minds of our age.  You should certainly use it.  Not an order, a suggestion."_

_Gregory didn't move for a moment.  "You're his brother.  Or cousin or something.  Some relation."  When a wave of surprise passed across Mycroft's face, Gregory smiled.  "I am a bloody good detective, Holmes."_

_Mycroft relaxed and extended his hand.  "Mycroft Holmes."_

_Gregory reluctantly took his hand and shook it.  "I don't appreciate meetings like this.  You should have asked me here to discuss your brother.  The intimidation attempt wasn't necessary."_

_"Would you have come if I had asked?"_

_Gregory looked surprised.  "Of course I would have.  I have a brother too."_

_Myroft considered him for a moment.  "I apologize.  I intended no insult."_

_Gregory smiled kindly.  "That's okay, mate.  If my brother were like Sherlock, I'd probably try to intimidate everyone he knew.  There's only so much you can do to protect him."_

_"Alas, I will continue to try in vain.  You may leave if you wish, I will inform your supervisors of your full cooperation in the meeting."_

_Gregory sat back down.  "You can always call me if  you need anything.  I assume that you can get my phone number."_

_"I would appreciate that.  Thank you."  Mycroft looked at Gregory appraisingly.  “You’re staying?”_

_Gregory grinned again.  “I have a chance to learn how to get the upper hand on Sherlock.  I’m not going to pass that up.”_

 

Mycroft closed the file, locked it in the drawer, and poured himself a small brandy.  He didn’t want to drink too much, but something to settle his nerves.  He leaned back in his chair and thought about Gregory some more.  Their relationship had revolved around Sherlock.  Every few months they saw each other when Sherlock was doing something particularly crazy and one of them needed help with him or was particularly worried about something.  Throughout the past year, however, every time they met they spent a few minutes talking about other things.  Never very long, just enough to find out that they quite enjoyed each others’ company.  

Mycroft had been thinking about Gregory more and more after every meeting, until he thought about him every day.  The armor Mycroft normally kept on his heart was failing him.  For years he had minimized his emotional attachments and now he could feel himself already deeply attached to Gregory.  In the years of their acquaintance, Gregory had snuck into Mycroft’s heart and become firmly lodged there.

**

Greg sighed and looked at himself in the mirror one last time.  He had no idea where Mycroft was taking him, but he was sure it required much nicer clothes than Greg actually owned.  He had made do with his only suit, which he normally wore to court, and his least awful tie.  He knew that next to Mycroft he was going to look like a poor relation and had a fleeting thought of canceling the date.  Life had taught him to take chances, however, so he decided to endure the embarrassment of existing next to a man as gorgeous (and gorgeously dressed) as Mycroft.

He sat down and scrolled through the text messages they had sent each other.  There had been some decently suggestive texts, but nothing sexual.  A little disappointed, Greg wondered if Mycroft was the sexting type.  He had never done anything like that, but his sex life had been pretty much non-existent for the last decade or so, so that wasn’t much of a surprise.  The thought of sexting Mycroft was interesting, though: Mycroft was always so proper, Greg wanted to see him do something inappropriate to his station.  He supposed that if the evening went well, he might finally see Mycroft out of his fancy suits, or at least half in half out of one of them.

Greg put his phone away, stood, and smoothed his pants.  Thinking about a half-naked Mycroft was probably not a good idea at the moment.  The last thing he needed was an obvious bulge in his pants when Mycroft picked him up, though that might be a way to get things headed the direction he wanted that evening.  It suddenly hit Greg that he didn’t really want to jump into bed with Mycroft.  Of course he wanted to go to bed with Mycroft, but he worried that being too eager for a physical relationship might kill any chance for an emotional relationship.  He suddenly realized that he wanted an emotional relationship with Mycroft more than anything.

He wandered over to the window and looked out at the street.  He wasn’t sure if Mycroft was going to come to his door or wait outside in the car.  As he vacillated between waiting inside and outside a sleek black car pulled up and Mycroft got out.  Greg quickly stepped away from the window so Mycroft wouldn’t see, but the movement made Mycroft glance up at the window and smile.

After a few moments there was a knock on the door and Greg opened it.  “I wasn’t sure you’d come to the door,” he muttered sheepishly, embarrassed that he had been waiting at the window.

“And here I was, thinking that you simply couldn’t contain your excitement and needed to watch for me,” Mycroft teased, holding out his hand to Greg.

Greg smiled and took the hand.  “That too, of course.  I am very excited.”

“Oh good, I was worried that you wouldn’t put any extra pressure on me for an amazing first date.”  Mycroft led Greg to the car and opened the door for him.

“Not being the person in charge of the date is novel enough.  Anything you do is going to delight me, I’m sure,” Greg said once they were both settled in the car.

“Well, as long as you have low expectations, we will be fine.”

It was only a few moments before the car stopped.  Mycroft led the way, being a perfect gentleman and holding every door for Greg and offering an arm for him to hold while they were walking.  He took Greg into what looked like a very large house and through several rooms, including a richly decorated dining room and spotless kitchen, to a large, sumptuous terrace, upon which sat a table laden with food.

“I thought we could enjoy some privacy tonight.  Restaurants can be so tiresome,” Mycroft explained, pulling a chair out for Greg.

After staring at him for a moment, dazed, Greg broke into a wide smile and sat down in the offered chair.  “This is beautiful, Mycroft.”

“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft said in a silky voice that sent a thrill down Greg’s spine, “this is only the beginning.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short chapter. The next chapter should be coming tonight (just as soon as I write it) and will hopefully be a nice long one.

Greg looked at the table, which was still very full.  “I couldn’t eat another bite,” he told Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled and rested his hand on top of Greg’s on the table.  Greg smiled and and turned his hand so he could hold Mycroft’s.  He had barely had any physical contact with Mycroft.  They had shaken hands several times, but Greg had never appreciated just how soft Mycroft’s hands were.  This was the sort of soft that could only come from expensive hand cream and never doing manual labor of any kind.

“Everything okay?” Mycroft asked softly and Greg realized that he had been staring at their hands, smiling slightly.

Greg chuckled.  “Just thinking.”

“May I inquire about what?”

“Your hands.”  After a moment, Greg realized how that sounded and blushed.  “How soft they are.  How nice.  For holding.  Holding hands.”  He closed his eyes, embarrassed.

Mycroft laughed softly, his eyes shining with delight.  “To be honest, it wasn’t your hand that I was thinking about holding.”

Greg glanced at the door to the house.  “I assume there’s some sort of bedroom in there?”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous, so I had planned for wine in front of a fire.  But if you would rather retire to the bedroom, there is certainly a very nice one.”  He stood and led the way to the door.

“Should we clean up out here first?” Greg asked, looking back at the table.

Mycroft waved a hand dismissively.  “My people will take care of that.”

“Of course you have ‘people.’”

“You could hardly expect me to do dishes, Gregory.”

Greg shivered.  Hearing Mycroft say his name pushed all innocent thoughts out of his head and made him eager to get to the bedroom.  He followed Mycroft through the house again, this time up some stairs.

When they reached the bedroom, Greg stared at their surroundings in awe.  He had never been in such a beautifully decorated room.  If it hadn’t been clear before it was now absolutely clear that Mycroft was the richest man he had ever met.  A little uncomfortable by the obvious cost of his surroundings, Greg fidgeted slightly with his cheap suit.

“Is everything alright?” Mycroft asked him, eyes narrowed.  Greg tried to make his mind go blank, sure that Mycroft could read it.  “If you’d be more comfortable somewhere else, we could leave.  Your place, perhaps?”

“No, no, this is fine,” Greg said hastily.  He was sure that he didn’t want Mycroft to spend too much time in Greg’s tiny, barely decorated flat.  Greg busied himself taking his suit jacket off and looked around, not sure where to set it.

Mycroft smiled and took it from him, casually tossing it onto an armchair.  He followed suit and took off his own jacket, tossing it on top of Greg’s.  Greg thought about how ridiculous the two jackets, which could not have been further apart in terms of quality, looked next to each other.

Suddenly, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s wrist and pulled him in close.  “I think I need to distract you,” Mycroft murmured.  “You’re worrying.”

“Of course I’m worrying.” Greg said, looking at Mycroft’s shoulder instead of his face.  “You’re way too good for me.  You deserve someone who can afford to take you to posh restaurants and buy you nice things.  Though perhaps I’m rushing things a bit.”

“Rushing things?”

“I would understand if you just wanted this to be a casual thing or a one time thing.”

Mycroft cupped Greg’s cheek with his hand and kissed him gently on the lips.  “I am not interested in a casual relationship with you,” he said quietly.  “Nor am I interested in not seeing you again.  As far as going to posh restaurants, I have the means for dinners like that, why would I need a man to provide me with them?”

“You can’t want to plan the dates all the time.  I’m sure it would be nice to be spoiled instead of doing the spoiling.”  Greg was worried that he was whining too much, but Mycroft’s smile implied that he didn’t mind.

“I’m sure you’re not destitute, Gregory.  You’ll be able to spoil me occasionally.  And even if you cannot, I would not mind.  Your company is gift enough.”

Greg smiled.  “You’re so beautiful.”  He pulled Mycroft in for a long, tender kiss.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Greg rolled over and breathed in the scent of Mycroft as he woke up. He was alone in the large bed, but the sheets smelled wonderful, like Mycroft’s sweat mixed with the posh products he used. Greg was enjoying lying in bed, something he didn’t regularly do, when his phone’s text alert sounded. He reached for it, wondering who it could be.

_Come to Baker Street at your earliest convenience. —SH_

_By “earliest convenience” I mean now. —SH_

Greg groaned and covered his eyes with the blanket. Mycroft had warned him that he would be gone early, but now that he had received a text from Sherlock, Greg wished that Mycroft were still there.

His phone rang and Greg almost ignored it, worried about who it was. He checked it, though, smiling when he saw that it was Mycroft. “Hello, love,” he said with a smile, answering it.

“Good morning. I am afraid that I have some rather unfortunate news for you.”

“And what’s that? You decided that I’m more trouble than I’m worth?” Greg had intended it as a joke, but now that he said it, he worried that it was true.

“Certainly not. My brother has called me to his flat. While I am quite good at hiding things from most people, I fear that Sherlock is most perceptive as far as I am concerned.”

“I got the text too. Knowing Sherlock, he already knows and just wants to make sure by seeing us together.”

“Well, shall we pretend that nothing has happened or shall we tell him? I am not sure of the etiquette of this situation. It seems soon to involve Sherlock.”

“It’s always going to seem too soon to involve Sherlock. He’ll find out eventually, but I don’t think we should tell him if he doesn’t figure it out.”

“Are we actively trying to hide it from him?”

Greg frowned. He didn’t really want to hide his relationship with Mycroft, but he didn’t want Sherlock involved in it. No good could come from Sherlock knowing. “I don’t want to hide this,” he said truthfully. “I want everyone to know how much I like you. But your brother…”

“My brother might try to sabotage it. I know very well what he might try to do. He has never welcomed any relationship of mine. I doubt he will approve of this relationship.”

“I’m worried that it will hurt us to hide this.” Greg smiled that there was an “us” to cause him worry.

“As long as we are in agreement, I’m not. I would enjoy having you to myself for a while yet.”

Greg checked the time. “If we’re both going to Sherlock’s, will you be free for lunch after? Perhaps I can treat, if the amount of grease at my usual won’t bother your delicate constitution.”

“I have Sherlock for a brother. My constitution is anything but delicate. I think a break for lunch can be arranged. Would you like me to send a car to you?”

***

Greg had the driver let him out a few blocks away and walked the rest of the way, not wanting Sherlock to see the car: it would be obvious who arranged it for him. He knocked at Baker Street and greeted Mrs. Hudson when she opened the door.

“My, my, aren’t you cheerful,” she commented as they climbed the stairs. Greg cursed himself and tried to steel his expression against Sherlock’s deductions.

“Lestrade, what took you so long?” Sherlock asked, probably not expecting an answer, as Greg walked into the flat. Mycroft was already there, looking prim and uncomfortable in a chair.

Greg took a seat on the couch, not wanting to sit too close to Mycroft or too far away. As he realized that he was calculating which would be best, he tried to make his mind go blank. Sherlock had always seemed to be able to read it.

“It is Saturday, Sherlock,” Greg said, accepting a cup of tea from John with a nod. “Some of us only have one or two days a week to relax.”

“Relaxation is boring. I have a case to discuss with you two.”

After Sherlock went over the details of the case and the four of them talked it over, Sherlock sat back in his chair and studied Mycroft. “When did you start a sexual relationship?”=

Greg almost spit out his tea, but he stopped himself and watched Mycroft, curious about what he would say.

“Sherlock, must we discuss this in front of strangers?” Mycroft asked, glancing at Greg.

“Lestrade isn’t a stranger. And I doubt he cares about your sex life. Who is it?”

“My sex life is not your business, Sherlock,” Mycroft said in a soft, dangerous voice.

“Not usually, because it’s nonexistent. What’s it been, two decades?”

Mycroft didn’t look at Greg to see his reaction, but Greg knew he wanted to. Greg thought about the previous night, which had given him no clue that Mycroft hadn’t been in a relationship in so long.

“I’m surprised that you managed to trick someone to go to bed with you again. Surely he has realized his mistake and won’t be seeing you again,” Sherlock said shrugging.

“Really, Sherlock,” Greg said, secure in interrupting: he would have interrupted at this point no matter who it was. “That’s unnecessary. Your brother is perfectly lovely.”

Sherlock snorted derisively. “You don’t have to be polite to him, Lestrade. He is never polite about you. Before you arrived, he was lamenting your intended presence.”

“That simply isn’t true,” Mycroft said. He sounded mostly calm, but there was a note of desperation in his voice.

“Of course not,” Greg said gruffly, getting annoyed. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at Sherlock for saying something like that or if he was annoyed at himself for thinking that it was a possibility.

“Of course it isn’t true,” Sherlock agreed. “I just wanted you to notice that my brother has stopped pining away for lack of your attention.”

“My attention? Why should he want my attention?” Greg asked, genuinely surprised. He hadn’t supposed that Mycroft had given him much thought before a few days previous.

“There has been quite an unrequited love affair happening here. It is no surprise that you didn’t notice, you’re not very observant. But Mycroft seems to have moved on, so it isn’t worthy of discussion.”

“Well, good for him,” Greg said, glancing at Mycroft, whose cheeks had colored slightly.

“Where do you get these fanciful notions in your head, Sherlock? As if I would have an interest in Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

Greg tried not to look hurt. He knew that Mycroft was just going along with their plan, but it still hurt his feelings. “Quite right. Mycroft is far too good for me. Anyone that piques his interest would have to be gorgeous and posh, nothing like me.”

Mycroft opened his mouth like he wanted to say something and then shut it again. He stood their awkwardly for a moment as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Greg stood. “As lovely as this has been, it’s time for me to leave. I do have other things in my life besides you, Sherlock.”

“Not since your divorce, Lestrade.”

Greg ignored him, said goodbye to John, and glanced at Mycroft before turning to leave. Once he was down the stairs he rushed away, not sure if he wanted to see Mycroft after that. He knew that everything had been for Sherlock’s benefit, but what Mycroft said had still hurt his feelings. He was still feeling insecure about the wealth disparity between the two of them and hearing Mycroft echo his worries about the relationship as a way to show he cared nothing for Greg made him want to cry.

He went home, ignoring his phone when the text alert went off and it rang. When he got there, there was a black car on the street and Mycroft was leaning against his door.

“Yes, Mycroft?” he asked, feeling tetchy. He didn’t open the door, embarrassed at his flat.

“I only said that because of Sherlock, because of what we agreed. I would never—”

“I know,” Greg said with a sigh. “It was hard to hear. You shouldn’t be with someone like me.”

“I should be with someone exactly like you. Sherlock was right. I’ve wanted you for months, maybe years.”

Greg was shocked. Mycroft was looking at him with more emotion in his eyes than Greg thought was possible. “That doesn’t mean that you should be with me. You simply wanting me isn’t a basis for a relationship.”

“I love you, Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly, looking at the ground.

Greg stared at him, but didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to say: emotional conversations had never come easy to Greg and he hadn’t prepared himself for a declaration of love.

After a few moments, Mycroft sighed and got back in the car before Greg could react. Greg made a move for the car door to stop him, but it drove off before he could reach it. He watched the car drive away and turn a corner, unsure of what to do. He was about to go inside and figure out how to fix this when he heard a loud crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this to be longer, but I got caught up in it and wanted to leave it off where I did. Hopefully life will cooperate and the next chapter won't take too long.


	6. Chapter 6

Greg took off at a run, pulling his phone out of his pocket and calling for help as he did. The professional part of his mind took over as he hurried to make sure that Mycroft hadn’t been involved in the crash. His heart sank as he turned the corner and he saw Mycroft’s posh car in the middle of the road with a truck up against it. Mycroft’s driver was pulling himself out of the car and making his own call as the dazed truck driver appeared.

Greg didn’t know he could run as fast as he did when he realized that the truck had hit the rear of the car, on the side the was normally Mycroft’s. He tore the car door open to see Mycroft unconscious in the back seat, blood pouring out of a wound on his head. He climbed in, assessing the situation and trying to remember his training for situations like this. Normally he was very good in emergencies, but every bit of knowledge seemed to have leaked from his head when he saw Mycroft.

Strong hands pulled him from the car and some men in suits set to extracting Mycroft from the car. Someone touched Greg’s shoulder and he turned to see Mycroft’s assistant, who Greg always called Anthea (not her real name, he knew, but the only one he knew for her). She took a look at his face and squeezed his shoulder. “What do I do?” he asked dumbly, feeling unable to think or act.

“Come with me,” she said calmly, leading him to a car. He sat in the back seat with her, staring at his hands, barely noticing when the car started moving a bit later.

The car stopped and Greg followed Anthea into what appeared to be some kind of private hospital he had never seen. They went into a waiting room and Greg sat in a chair, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He looked at Anthea, sitting next to him, typing rapidly on her phone.

She glanced at Greg, the amused face she normally wore when around him replaced with concern. “Do you need a coffee or something?”

“I was awful to him, right before. I would be devastated if he treated me like that,” Greg said quietly.

“Then you’ll have to apologize when you see him next. He’s going to be fine.”

“What if he isn’t? What if he dies and the last thing I said to him was that we shouldn’t be together? I’ll never forgive myself.”

Anthea hesitated and then put her arm comfortingly around Greg’s shoulders. “He is going to be fine. He has the finest medical care the country can offer.”

Greg put his head in his hands. “I hope so.”

***

Greg sat in the waiting room for ages with no word on Mycroft’s condition. Anthea was in and out, murmuring comforting words as she handed cups of tea and coffee over. Greg ignored her, but drank everything she gave him. He felt in a daze. If the building was on fire, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to make it out okay. The only clear thought he remembered having was being happy that it was Saturday and he wasn’t due back at work for another day.

Eventually, John and Sherlock turned up. Sherlock was manic, but when he saw Greg, he stopped and stared. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

Greg just put his face in his hands and ignored him. He didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with Sherlock. “Are you okay, mate?” John asked, sitting down next to Greg and putting his hand on Greg’s shoulder. “I didn’t know that you were so close to Mycroft.”

“I’m not, not really. I mean, it’s only been one date. But I…” Greg didn’t know how to explain it, even to himself. He felt so attached to Mycroft already, even though they hadn’t been together very long. The thought of losing Mycroft now, almost before they started, was too much. He suddenly had images of growing old with Mycroft, retiring together and traveling the world. He looked over at John, surprised to see the other man grinning.

“Looks like love to me. Congratulations.”

Greg stared at him. Did he love Mycroft? It had taken him an absurd amount of time to admit that he loved his ex-wife, but he knew that this hadn’t been an absurd amount of time. He didn’t think it was the right time in the relationship to talk about love, which was why Mycroft’s declaration had surprised him so much. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You love my brother?” Sherlock asked, taking an angry step towards Greg. “You were right about one thing, Lestrade. You are not good enough for my brother.”

Greg was so shocked that he momentarily forgot his internal conflict. “What?”

“You’re not good enough for him. He deserves better than you. Leave him alone.” Sherlock turned, walked to the other side of the room and flopped down in a chair.

Of all of the possible reactions, this was the one that Greg found least probable. He had expected jealousy that Greg was getting close to his brother, Sherlock’s usual brand of insulting indifference, or even Sherlock deleting the information and needing to be told every time they saw him. This protective streak was the last thing Greg had expected and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. John seemed just as surprised and moved to sit next to Sherlock, talking to him in a low voice.

Greg sighed again and returned his head to his hands, deciding to deal with Sherlock later, if — no, once Mycroft got better.

It was only a few minutes later that Anthea came back into the room. “He’s asking for you,” she said quietly.

When Sherlock jumped up and headed for the door, Anthea blocked him. “Not you. Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“I will see my brother now,” Sherlock said, looking down at her imperiously.

Anthea did not look impressed. “You will wait here until you are invited in,” she told him.

Sherlock scowled and sat back down, glaring daggers at Greg, who followed Anthea out of the room. “How is he?” he asked her.

“He needed emergency surgery and he has several broken bones, but he should make a full recovery. He looks very badly hurt, but he will be okay.” She stopped outside a door, reaching out and squeezing Greg’s shoulder again. “He’s a little groggy from the anesthesia, but he’s still him.”

Greg entered the room to see Mycroft lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to several machines. Mycroft smiled when he saw Greg, holding out a hand. “I was worried you wouldn’t come, Gregory.  Anthea said you’ve been here the whole time.”

Greg willing away the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. “How do you feel?” he asked, reaching out and taking Mycroft’s hand. It felt rough and Greg realized that it had been cut up by the accident. Greg took a shuddering breath to steady his nerves and looked at Mycroft’s face.

“Awful. How do I look?”

Greg smiled slightly. “Gorgeous, as always.”

“I am very appreciative of your presence.”

Greg leaned in and gave Mycroft a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry. I was a git.”

“I apologize. I should not have said what I said. It was unfair of me to surprise you with the…other thing.”

“You’re mad if you think there was anything wrong with telling me how you feel. I didn’t respond well. I — I’m not very good with emotions. We haven’t had time to discuss this. I am terrible with admitting my emotions. What happened?” Greg realized that he hadn’t had a thorough explanation of what caused the accident or Mycroft’s injuries.

“My people are investigating the accident. It appears to have been just that, an accident. The other driver lost control and collided with my car. I had internal bleeding and several broken bones in my legs. I should be released from the hospital within a week and will have quite a lengthy convalescence. I will be able to do much of my work from my home office, though I suppose I will need an in-home nurse, at least for the first week or so.”

“I’ll do it,” Greg said impulsively, gently squeezing Mycroft’s hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

“That is unnecessary. I will hire someone.”

“I want to do it. I want to be near you. I can take time off of work. I have leave time saved up, it will be no problem.”

“I will be working. I cannot take time away from my work. And I fear that I make a dreadful patient.”

“Well I make a wonderful nurse. So we match.”

They sat together for a few moments, holding hands and feeling grateful. Greg let his head fall to Mycroft’s shoulder and rest there. He suddenly felt the last several hours and it exhausted him. “I love you, too, Mycroft. I’m sorry I couldn’t admit it before,” he said quietly as his heavy eyelids closed. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Mycroft kiss his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has gone in a direction I totally didn't anticipate. I expected it to end three chapters ago, but now I'm expecting several more chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: My main sources of medical knowledge are ER, House, and Google. I've never been in a car accident and I've only been in the hospital to have children. If I've written something terribly wrong, please tell me so I can fix it. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up, life has been crazy! Enjoy!

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open at the usual time and he started to sit up, as usual. When he felt a wave of pain, he realized that he couldn’t do his morning routine as normal. He sunk back into the pillow and turned to look at Gregory, who was snoring lightly. They had returned to Mycroft’s house the previous day and had settled into their new roles as nurse and patient. Gregory had learned how to take care of Mycroft’s injuries and had taken the next fortnight off of work. Mycroft couldn’t believe that someone would go to so much trouble for him. Gregory had been very reassuring, however, that nothing was an imposition. He had even wanted to sleep in a guest bedroom, but Mycroft wouldn’t hear of it.

Mycroft felt himself getting further away from his normal cool opinion of love. He had known that he was in trouble with Gregory when he had first asked Gregory for a date and since then things had progressed very quickly. It had only been a few days and Gregory was staying at Mycroft’s house, taking care of him as if they were an old married couple. Mycroft was enjoying having someone to care for him for the first time since he was a small child and didn’t want things to change, but he worried that forming such an attachment could cause problems for him professionally, as well as putting Gregory in danger.

The door opened and Mycroft’s assistant stuck her head into the room. “Sir? You have a conference call in ten minutes. You have missed several and people are getting nervous.”

Mycroft sighed quietly. “Very well, I will be in my study in five minutes.” Anthea left and Mycroft gently shook Gregory. “I’m very sorry to wake you, but I need to get to my study for a conference call.”

Gregory smiled as he opened his eyes. “I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be sleeping very late. You’re probably very busy.”

“Exceedingly,” Mycroft said, returning the smile.

“Well, let’s get you up, then,” Gregory said, jumping out of bed. “Can’t having you keep all the important people you know waiting.”

Mycroft didn’t even try to correct him, he just accepted the help getting ready.

***

Greg had just finished making lunch and was carrying it up to Mycroft when he heard the front door open. He went to investigate and found John and Sherlock. “What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, scowling.

“Taking care of my boyfriend,” Greg said, feeling a surge of anger towards Sherlock.

John turned and spoke rapidly in a quiet, commanding voice. Sherlock sighed and slumped his shoulders, looking somewhere to the left of Greg’s head. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. It was rude and unacceptable. Of course you are good enough for Mycroft. Anyone who will have him is good enough, really.”

“Shut it, Sherlock,” Greg said, starting to lose his temper. “Stop insulting Mycroft. I know that’s how you two damaged Holmes’ show affection, but it’s unacceptable in front of me. He’s hurt, he needs support, not ridicule.”

“Do not presume to know the slightest thing about my relationship with my brother,” Sherlock said, standing up straight.

“I won’t presume anything if you’ll promise not to needle him about his imaginary faults. Even you should understand that some things aren’t appropriate immediately after a life-threatening accident.”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then gave a nod. He led the way up the stairs to Mycroft’s office and Greg and John followed.

“To what do I owe this little visit?” Mycroft asked, smiling at Greg and moving some papers around to make room for the tray of food. “Checking to see if I am close to death and you are close to inheritance?”

“Why would I want this drafty old house?” Sherlock asked, looking around the stunning room.

“Ah, you feel guilty, as if you somehow caused my accident by being your normal, insensitive self. Fear not, little brother. You are absolved from all wrongs against me, as always.”

“Of course it wasn’t my fault, someone else hit you. I just wanted to make sure that you were being properly tended.” Sherlock helped himself to Mycroft’s so far untouched cup of tea, sat down in a chair, and started to drink it.

“Well, now that you have seen my condition, perhaps you would be more comfortable at your flat.”

“Let’s go, Sherlock. Greg and Mycroft are clearly busy. We can visit another time,” John said, half turning back toward the door.

Sherlock reluctantly stood. “Lestrade, a word?” he shouted behind him as he swept out of the room.

Greg followed him and was surprised when Sherlock grabbed him by the front of the shirt as soon as he had closed the door behind him.

“If you hurt my brother, they will never find the pieces of your body, Lestrade,” Sherlock growled quietly, his face inches from Greg’s.

“Are you threatening me? Don’t you think Mycroft has enough security already?” Greg asked.

“I am not speaking physically. If you break him, I will break you. He has very rarely allowed himself to open up to another person and I will not allow you to take the honor for granted. There is nothing that can save you from me if he ends up hurt at the end of this tryst.”

Before Greg had time to react to that statement, John and Sherlock were gone. Greg stared after them for a few minutes and then turned to go back into the study. As he turned, he realized that he hadn’t shut the door all the way and that Anthea had entered the study by the other door to speak to Mycroft. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but what he heard stopped him in his tracks as he moved to fully shut the door.

“—which leads us to believe that the accident wasn’t one,” she was finishing as Greg started listening.

“He hit my car intentionally?” Mycroft asked, leaning back and folding his hands in his lap. He looked calm, but Greg could tell that it was an act.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are there any other active threats?”

“We have neutralized all of them, sir. We haven’t found a motive for this attack, however, so there may be threats that we cannot anticipate.”

“Well, anticipate them,” Mycroft said icily. “Increase my security, Gregory’s security, and Sherlock’s security. If anything like this happens again, I will be very displeased.”

Greg hadn’t ever been able to imagine Anthea looking anything but perfectly confident and at ease, so to see a tremor of fear pass through her scared him. He wondered what had happened to the last person who displeased Mycroft and then realized that he probably didn’t want to know.

Greg stepped back from the door and then made sure that his footprints were loud as he moved to return to the study. When he opened the door, Anthea had disappeared. Greg wondered if Mycroft would ever tell him that someone had tried to kill him or if Mycroft would ever tell him if there were an active threat to the safety of both Mycroft and Greg.

“Let’s eat,” Greg said, sitting back down in the chair.

Mycroft smiled, but there was an almost imperceptible strain around his eyes. “Yes, this looks lovely. Thank you.”

“Everything alright?” Greg asked casually.

“Everything is satisfactory, under the circumstances.”

Well, that answers that question, Greg thought as he listened to Mycroft explaining some aspect of his work. He would just have to do his best to be on his guard.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft stared at the papers in front of him, his mind no longer on his work. Something hadn’t seemed right about the accident, but the past few days he had been far too preoccupied with his injuries to think about it. Now that he knew that there was a threat, however, he had some serious thinking to do. There hadn’t been an attempt on his life in over a year, a relatively long stretch of time. He had known that there would be attempts, but the reality of them hadn’t occurred to Mycroft while he was rushing headlong into a relationship with his dreamy Detective Inspector. After a few minutes of thought, Mycroft realized that if he hadn’t fought with Gregory, they both would have been in the car, on their way to eat. Mycroft had a momentary bout of nausea at that thought and leaned forward, resting his head on the desk. Gregory could have been killed in the accident or seriously injured. The fight was conveniently timed, but Mycroft doubted that they would be so lucky next time.

The door opened and Gregory dropped whatever he was carrying with a crash and rushed to Mycroft’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked, putting his arm around Mycroft’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Mycroft sat up and shrugged off the comforting arm. “I am well. I had some dizziness, but it has left me. As should you. I’m working, Gregory.”

Gregory frowned. “I know you are, I just thought you might like a snack. I was clearly mistaken.” He turned and left the room, leaving the mess on the floor.

Mycroft groaned and put his face in his hands. He had always started to push people away when something was wrong. In this situation, pushing Gregory might not be a bad idea. Very few people knew of their relationship, so he could be sure that no threats knew would target Gregory if they ended things immediately. If they continued their association and other people learned of it, there were several organizations that might try to target Gregory. Of course, organizations were always trying to target Sherlock with not success, but Gregory wasn’t a genius like Sherlock was. Gregory was a trained member of the police force, a hopeful little voice in his head reminded Mycroft. Surely he could handle any threat that came his way. Maybe any threat that came directly at him, but Mycroft doubted that the tactics generally used by these people were covered in Gregory’s training.

He didn’t want to lose Gregory. It had been years since he had been so excited by a person and it was his first real relationship since he was in his twenties and far too full of hope and had lived with Thomas, his first boyfriend. Thinking of the end of that relationship, a house fire that had taken Thomas’s life, Mycroft felt his stomach jump unpleasantly. There had been no nefarious shadow organization at work there, but Mycroft had lost who he had felt was the love of his life and had vowed never to love again. Now that there were very real threats against his boyfriend, Mycroft couldn’t risk it again. It would destroy him to lose Gregory, but Mycroft couldn’t bear the thought of Gregory losing his life.

With that decided, Mycroft had to formulate a plan for ending the relationship. Gregory would fight it, of course. It would seem sudden and irrational, but not telling him the danger seemed the better choice. If Gregory knew, he would bravely face the danger rather than leave Mycroft and Mycroft wasn’t sure he could argue against that. Keeping up the rudeness would help, as would picking another fight. Mycroft was sure that Gregory would see him as more trouble that he’s worth if they continued to argue.  
Of course, Mycroft would keep a security detail on Gregory afterward, just to be sure. He couldn’t risk losing the relationship and Gregory still suffering. With a heavy sigh, Gregory returned for his work and tried to focus on the world’s problems instead of his own.

***

Greg knocked on Mycroft’s door at the arranged time, waiting to be invited before entering. He quickly cleaned up the mess he had left and then returned to help Mycroft to bed for the night. He wondered if Mycroft was going to mention what he had learned, but held out hope that Mycroft was just waiting until they were comfortable for the night to break the bad news.

When they had settled down in bed, Mycroft sighed. “Maybe you should sleep in a guest room,” he said quietly.

Greg froze: he hadn’t expected something like this, not after the argument they had initially had over the sleeping arrangements. “And why is that?” he asked, rolling onto his side so he could look at Mycroft.

Mycroft continued to stare at the ceiling. “I do not enjoy sharing a bed with you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Oh? And what gives you that impression?”

“I can tell when you’re lying. When it’s about your job I can ignore it, but I won’t let you lie about our relationship. Why don’t you want me here?”

“It just seems like it would be more comfortable for everyone involved. You didn’t sleep last night, for fear of bumping into me and hurting me.”

Greg could see the lie written all over Mycroft’s face, though he tried to be impassive. After a moment, he decided to agree and see what Mycroft said. “Good point. You’re probably right. I would sleep better somewhere else.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, his pain showing through his very accomplished poker face. Greg couldn’t bear to see the hurt on his boyfriends face, so he took Mycroft’s hand. “You know I wouldn’t sleep better away from you. I would lie awake all night worrying about you.”

“You should leave,” Mycroft said in a pained voice. “Leave the house entirely.”

“Why? Because someone is trying to kill you?”

Mycroft turned his head sharply to look at Greg and then winced.

Greg frowned. “What kind of DI would I be if I didn’t know something like that was happening?”

“You were eavesdropping.”

“Unintentionally, I promise. And if I hadn’t, you would be ending our relationship.”

“I still plan to end it,” Mycroft said, closing his eyes briefly.

“No. I will not let you destroy what you have because of this. I’ve faced danger before and I will face this danger.”

“You’ve never faced anything like this, Gregory. And this won’t be the only time. It will never end until one of them succeeds or we die another way.”

“So it’s okay for you to live like that, but it’s not okay for you to have some emotional support while you do it?”

“I do not require emotional support.”

“Bollocks.”

“Gregory, I have managed thus far in my life without you, I will manage to trudge on without you in future.”

“No you won’t, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“You cannot force yourself on me. If I end the relationship, you will have to leave.”

“I’d like to see you try to make me leave.” Greg smiled slightly, moving closer to Mycroft.

Mycroft didn’t smile, but his voice sounded lighter, happier. “With a word, I could have some very large security men here in an instant to remove you from the premises.”

“You have a safe word that summons large men? If we ever try S&M, you’ll have to remember to use a different safe word. Though if we ever get bored, maybe you could use that word.”

Mycroft turned red and Greg laughed. “I do not foresee that being an issue, Gregory.”

Greg moved closer and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, sighing with pleasure at the contact. “See? You would miss me if we broke up.”

“I would miss you terribly,” Mycroft agreed. “But it is for your safety.”

“I don’t want safety if it means losing you. What can I do to convince you that I will be fine?”

“You could have died in the accident if you had been in the car,” Mycroft said quietly, his facade crumbling.

“But I wasn’t there and I’m fine. You dying was much more likely. If I’m willing to risk losing you that way, you should be willing to risk losing me that way. What we have already is too amazing to lose so early.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to live like that. Always looking over your shoulder is a terrible way to live. I cannot do that to you.”

“But you would break my heart?”

“Don’t be melodramatic. We’ve hardly been dating long enough to talk about broken hearts.”

“I love you, Mycroft. I would be crushed if I lost you now.”

“Better to be crushed now than killed later.”

“You’re wrong. Fine, call the men. I’m not leaving without a fight.”

Mycroft closed his eyes. He clearly wasn’t used to being challenged so much when he made a decision. Normally he told his people what he had decided and everyone listened and obeyed. Sherlock never obeyed, of course, but none of Sherlock’s rebellions ever really mattered.

After a few moments, he maneuvered his arm under Greg’s shoulders and shifted so he was holding him tightly. “Then I suppose you won’t be leaving. I have no energy to fight you tonight.”

“Only because you know I’m right.”

“Perhaps. But we will probably revisit this conversation soon.”

“Good. It will give me a chance to practice my debating. I suppose it’s a skill I will need, being in love with you.”

“Go to sleep, Gregory.”

Greg grinned. “Anything for you, Mycroft.”


	9. Chapter 9

“What is this place?” Sally Donovan asked, looking around as she entered the house. “Whose house is this?”

“Stop being nosy,” Greg said, holding his hand out. Sally handed him the file she was holding, which contained some papers that she needed him to sign.

“These could have waited until you were back. You didn’t have to interrupt your holiday.”

“I don’t want anything to stop this case from progressing. The sooner I sign these, the sooner you can close it.” He signed what he needed to, double checked the papers, and handed them back to her.

Sally looked around one more time. “Well, have a fun holi—”

“It isn’t a holiday,” Mycroft interrupted, wheeling himself into the foyer with a wheelchair he had been using for the past day. “Gregory is taking care of me. Mycroft Holmes.” He held his hand out to shake.

Sally eyed him suspiciously, but she shook his hand. “Sally Donovan. I work with Greg.”

Mycroft smiled, which surprised Greg. “I know. He’s mentioned you.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your relationship?” she asked, looking between the two of them.

“Remember the flowers? Mycroft is my ‘admirer’, as you put it.” Greg asked, walking over and putting his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“So you two are…dating? Holmes?”

“Sherlock’s brother,” Greg explained with a small smile.

“I didn’t know the f—Sherlock had a brother.”

Mycroft smiled. “Well, you are hardly on familiar terms with my brother, are you?”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s clear from your manner when his name was mentioned, or even my surname. He disgusts you.” Mycroft’s tone was light and friendly, but his eyes were cold and calculating.

Greg could see that Sally knew she was in trouble in this conversation, her thoughts laid bare like they would have been if she were speaking to Sherlock. “There’s nothing unusual with being disgusted by a person. Everyone has people they dislike.”

“Oh yes, but not like this. I dislike you. You loathe Sherlock. That’s hardly appropriate for a passing acquaintance.”

“Enough, Mycroft,” Greg said quietly, squeezing Mycroft’s shoulder. He didn’t want animosity between Sally and Mycroft and letting them continue this conversation wasn’t going to help that.

“Goodbye, Greg. We’ll talk when you get back. I hope you feel better soon.” Sally nodded at Greg and then Mycroft before leaving.

“Was I too much? I was trying to be friendly.”

“Of course you were. Being friendly isn’t something that you have a lot of experience with, is it?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Not actual people. My version of friendly usually involves buying expensive gifts. Would Sally appreciate something like that?”

“You’re not going to buy her approval for our relationship. She isn’t that sort of person.”

“You two are close. I would like to be friendly with her.”

“Well, you could begin by not grilling her about Sherlock.” Greg wheeled Mycroft back into the kitchen, where they had been relaxing with a glass of wine. There were several other rooms where they could be sitting, but everything seemed so formal in the house that Greg was most comfortable in the kitchen, which was the same as every other kitchen, if he ignored the top of the line appliances and furnishings.

“Why does she hate him?”

Greg shrugged. “Why does nearly everyone he meet hate him?”

“I never understood it. When I was the one everyone hated, I never understood it either.”

“You? Your methods sometimes leave something to be desired, but I can’t imagine people react to you like they do Sherlock.”

“Well, not now. When I was young, before I learned diplomacy and tact, I was worse than him. It’s very difficult to be a child and not understand why no one wants to be friends.”

“You don’t have the ego he does. I doubt Sherlock ever wanted the approval of his peers.”

“He wasn’t born that way. He was a very affectionate child, but years of abuse and neglect by the world taught him certain defense mechanisms. And you are correct. I do not have the ego he does. Mine is bigger.”

“You remember my name,” Greg said, frowning. He couldn’t see Mycroft being like Sherlock or being different than the Mycroft he knew, really.

“Sherlock knows your name. He likes to feign ignorance of things like that, so people believe he is detached. It has never fooled me, but it quite offends people, so he continues.”

“He really is broken, isn’t he?” Greg asked affectionately.

“Who isn’t?” Mycroft said, finishing his glass of wine. “Perhaps it would be wise to retire to the bedroom?”

“Are you propositioning me?” Greg rinsed the glasses out and wheeled Mycroft to the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh yes. Nothing more attractive than a man with two broken legs.” Mycroft put his arms around Greg’s neck and rested his head on Greg’s chest as Greg lifted him and carried him up the stairs to a waiting second wheelchair.

“There’s nothing more attractive than you, broken legs or not.” Greg punctuated his statement with a kiss on the cheek before wheeling Mycroft into the bedroom.

Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand, stopping him from his bedtime preparations. “Thank you, for this. There are very few people I would trust to do this.”

Greg smiled. “Thank you for trusting me.”

***

The rest of the two weeks went way too quickly and Greg was heading back to work before he knew it. He and Mycroft decided that he would continue to stay at Mycroft’s house, so he could help in the mornings and at night. At least until his casts were removed, Mycroft needed around the clock help and Greg wanted to be the one who was there as much as he could.

He knew that a lot of people would be gossiping about him at the office. He had never discussed his sexuality at work, never thinking it pertinent to his job. Everyone knew that he had been married to a woman, but no one knew that he had dated men in the past. While everyone was as politically correct as can be, he knew that some people would privately have issues with Greg dating a man. He didn’t particularly care, but he was a little worried that he might have some problems with some people.

Sally was waiting for him in his office when he got in. “How is Mr. Holmes?” she asked casually.

“You can call him Mycroft. He’s well. Much better than immediately after the accident.”

“I’m sorry if I made a bad impression.”

Greg grinned at her. “You were fine. He was trying to be friendly. Trust me, you met a much nicer Mycroft that I originally met. He’s better with people than Sherlock, but he is still a Holmes, after all.”

“How do you stand it?”

“He’s a good man. He just hides it under layers of bureaucratic shielding.”

“Pretty posh for you. I’ve never seen someone in full leg casts and a suit before.”

Greg laughed. “His suits are very important to him. I suggested that he not wear them while he healed and I thought he would faint.”

The office door slammed open and John and Sherlock walked in. “Do you have any cases for me, Lestrade?” Sherlock demanded, ignoring Sally.

“I just got in. I don’t have any cases for me, yet,” Greg said, nodding hello to John. “Why don’t you go visit Mycroft or something?”

“We’ve already been there.”

“Ah. Waiting until I left the house so you could go in and persuade him to leave me?”

“No, I’ve decided that you’re an acceptable match. I told you that.”

“No you didn’t. You just threatened to kill me if I hurt him.”

“I can arrest him for that, if you’d like, sir,” Sally said cheerfully.

“No, it was endearing. Well, boys, if you don’t mind, I would like to get to some work. I will call if I have something for you. Until then, sod off

“Can you imagine that as a brother-in-law?” Sally asked after they had left. “How exhausting Christmas dinner would be.”

“Well, so far we’ve had one date, a devastating car accident, and me playing nurse for a fortnight. I don’t believe we’re quite ready to pick out china patterns.”

***

Later that day, Greg was visiting a crime scene. He was busy speaking to someone when Sherlock showed up again. “Hey, Holmes!” Anderson said with a wide smile, walking to greet Sherlock. “I heard Lestrade is buggering your brother. Always the bridesmaid, eh?”

Greg stopped his conversation abruptly and spun to stride toward Anderson. Sherlock, seeing the look on Greg’s face, kept his mouth shut. “What did you mean by that?” Lestrade asked, reaching them.

Anderson reddened. “It was a joke. You weren’t meant to hear…”

“So you were making a vulgar joke about me behind my back?”

“I’m sorry. I…it was just a joke.”

“I would appreciate it if you would behave like a professional and no longer harass my friends or make jokes about my personal life.”

“Can such a small brain understand professionalism?” Sherlock asked with a smile.

“Can such a large ego understand it?” Greg snapped, glaring at him. “Leave. Now. We will discuss this later. As for you, Anderson, we are going to have a very long discussion about this later. Go do your work and keep your mouth shut.”

He had returned to his conversation when his phone chimed.

_Righteous indignation is a very sexy look on you. —M_

He smiled, looking up at the nearest CCTV camera and giving it a smile and a small wave.

Greg looked back at his phone to respond with a text, when something large hit him, knocking him over, as he simultaneously heard a loud crack that was clearly a gun discharging. As he fell under Sherlock, who seemed to have tackled him, he hit his head on the pavement and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be up in a couple hours (just as soon as I write it). This is the main thing I'm writing for July Camp NaNoWriMo, so I should be wrapping it up tomorrow, when I will hopefully hit my 25,000 word goal (I'm about halfway there). As long as the husband and kids cooperate, I should be able to finish this and maybe write another Sherlock fic tomorrow.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it so far!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was entirely written past my normal bedtime. If you see any mistakes, let me know and I will fix them. Thanks and enjoy!

Mycroft stared at his computer screen, not sure of what he was seeing. He sent a quick text to Anthea, giving her instructions, and tapping his fingers impatiently as he futilely tried to make sense of the video he was seeing. He had seen Sherlock take off running in one direction, John running in the other. Sherlock leapt, tackled Gregory, and then rolled off of him, clutching his shoulder. Gregory hadn’t moved since they had tumbled to the ground. There seemed to be a bit of blood, but Mycroft couldn’t tell if it belonged to Sherlock, Gregory, or both.

He started to panic, feeling his breath and pulse quicken. He made fists with his hands and tried to slow his breathing, feeling like he was about to have a panic attack. He hadn’t felt so scared in years, not since Thomas… He forced his brain away from memories of that awful day, telling himself that Gregory was going to be okay, that Sherlock had tackled him in time. He knew that

Gregory was fine, he could see him on the video. Losing consciousness was common when a man hit his head as Gregory had, as was some bleeding. It wasn’t all that much blood anyway, just enough to terrify Mycroft.

John reappeared moments later, slightly out of breath, and knelt by Sherlock. His soldier background took over and he seemed to be giving orders to the people who surrounded him. He moved to Gregory, looking him over, then turned and looked at the CCTV camera. He nodded at it, sending a flood of relief through Mycroft. He cursed his casts as he sent more texts and made some phone calls, making arrangements for a ride for himself to hospital and for Gregory and Sherlock to be taken to the correct hospital.

Back on the video feed, Gregory was sitting up while paramedics tried to tend to him. He was trying to get to Sherlock, who was being treated by other paramedics, while apparently shouting for something. Gregory picked his phone up from the ground and dialed a number, causing Mycroft’s phone to ring.

“I’m fine. Call off the paramedics. They’re insisting that I go to hospital.”

“A doctor needs to ensure that you are well. Go with them. I will be there shortly.”

“I have things to do. First of all, I need to find out who tried to shoot me. Then I need to kill him.”

Mycroft checked his phone for Anthea’s response. “We have him. He will be properly dealt with, I can assure you of that. Now please go to the hospital.” He felt tears prickling at his eyes and closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Gregory must have heard the emotion in his voice, because he agreed and hung up the phone. On the screen, he stopped fighting the paramedics and did as they said, following them into an ambulance. Sherlock was wrangled into his own ambulance, followed by John.

A driver and the head of Mycroft’s security arrived. “Sir, I do not think it is wise for you to be leaving the safety of the house at the moment. We have limited information on this recent attack and we do not know your level of danger.”

“I am going, whether you would think it wise or not. You may help me or you may find alternative employment.” Mycroft’s voice and demeanor had taken on their coldest affect, which lowered the risk of an emotional outburst, either crying or yelling, from Mycroft.

The man nodded and helped the driver carry Mycroft’s wheelchair down the stairs. It was only a few moments before they were in the car and speeding to hospital, where Gregory and Sherlock were already waiting. When they arrived, Mycroft was first shown into Gregory’s room, where he was being checked over by a doctor.

“So?” Gregory asked as the doctor finished his exam.

“Mild concussion. We’ll keep you overnight for observation and you’ll be free to go in the morning.”

“I have work, I can’t stay here,” Gregory argued, looking annoyed.

“We would prefer observation, but if you have someone to keep an eye on you, you can go.”

“I do have working eyes, but I would be fairly useless in an emergency,” Mycroft told Gregory pointedly.

Gregory smiled at him. “We’ll just have to muddle through together. Let’s go see Sherlock.”

Without saying another word to the doctor, Gregory picked up his jacket and wheeled Mycroft out of the room and down the hallway, to where Sherlock was being stitched up by John.

“They’re letting you do that? Don’t they have a real doctor on staff?” Gregory joked when he saw them.

John looked up, looking completely wrung out. “He wouldn’t let anyone else touch him.”

“No one is more capable than John,” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

“How did you know?” Mycroft asked him.

“John saw him. I had a theory about the target. I won’t be the focus of the assassination attempts anymore.” Sherlock was as serious as Mycroft had ever seen him, which was oddly comforting.

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said with a nod to John. “I owe you everything.”

John shook his head. “I couldn’t find him. He’s still out there.”

“No, he isn’t. Mycroft’s people have him. If they didn’t Mycroft wouldn’t be here. No matter how much he insisted, his security wouldn’t allow him to leave the house if such a threat still existed out there. He’s probably being tortured as we speak.” Sherlock was back to his normal self.

Mycroft was so tired that he didn’t have the energy to lie and correct Sherlock. Gregory gave him a funny look, but didn’t say anything, and John seemed to be immune to what Sherlock said for shock value. “Will he be staying here or returning home with you?” Mycroft asked John.

“We’re going home. He’s insisting,” John said.

“So is Gregory,” Mycroft said, sniffing disapprovingly.

“They’re pig-headed and won’t listen to reason.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft sighed and briefly covered his face with his hand. “If we are going home, we should be leaving now.”

Gregory nodded, bade the other two farewell and wheeled Mycroft out to the waiting car.

When they arrived home, Gregory allowed the driver and a security man to help him get Mycroft upstairs, but then kicked them out. Once in the bedroom, Gregory sank down onto the bed with a groan and fell backward, closing his eyes. “My head feels like it was kicked by a horse.”

“My brother often has that effect on people. Can I help?” Mycroft was frustrated that he couldn’t go over to Gregory of his own volition and help.

“No. I need sleep. The doctor told me I needed rest for at least two days, which means no work. I already received word that I would be barred from entering if I tried to go into the office.”

“I know you dislike being away from work.” Guilt was starting to eat at Mycroft. If it weren’t for him, Gregory wouldn’t have missed any work.

“Hey. Stop that,” Gregory said, looking up at Mycroft. “This isn’t your fault. I made the decision to stay with you, knowing the risks. And I allowed Sally to know about us, which is akin to advertising the relationship to the world. If anyone is at fault here, it’s me, not you. I need to learn to be more on my guard.”

“I have a security staff that should make your need to be on guard very small. They have failed me for the second time in a month. They are not normally so incompetent. I shall ensure that they are not so in the future.”

Gregory looked like he was about to defend the security staff, but then seemed to think better of it. “Are you alright?”

Mycroft nodded. “I was very scared. More scared than I have been in years.”

“Are you regretting dating me?”

“No. However, it has been a long time since I have been emotionally involved when there was a threat like this. Normally I can remain detached, but I am finding that increasingly difficult when it comes to you.”

“It’s supposed to be difficult to remain detached when it comes to the safety of your boyfriend. It means you care.”

“I am ‘supposed to’ remain detached about everything. I cannot do my work if I am distracted by unnecessary emotions.” Mycroft was getting annoyed at himself for his reaction to Gregory’s relatively minor injury. He was sure that he would have trouble working for the rest of the day, worried about Gregory’s health and future threats against him.

“If you think loving me is an unnecessary emotion, I have a solution for your problem,” Gregory said coldly, trying to hide the hurt look in his eyes.

Mycroft realized what he said and bowed his head. “I did not mean that, Gregory. I never intended to imply that my feelings for you are unimportant or a problem. My inability to focus for worrying about you is a problem. I apologize for the slight, unintended as it was.” Mycroft remembered having severe communication problems in his previous relationship. He knew that a direct, sincere apology was the best course of action when he hurt his partner, whether intentionally or not. Gregory looked utterly shocked at Mycroft’s response, but pleased. The gratification present on his partner’s face was enough to make Mycroft smile, ensured that he was being good to Gregory.

He stayed in the room while Gregory got into bed and held his hand while he drifted off to sleep. Instead of returning to his office to work, Mycroft brought his work into the bedroom and worked while watching Gregory sleep peacefully.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft stretched his legs, feeling relief at no longer having his lower half almost entirely encased in casts. He stood tentatively, holding tightly onto the hand that Gregory offered him, and took some shaky steps. He had been in the casts for eight long weeks and he wasn’t sure that he could walk very far.

“Some crutches might help for the first few days, as your muscles regain their strength,” the doctor suggested.

Mycroft gave him a look that made the man shrink back. Gregory smiled and handed Mycroft’s umbrella to him. “Why don’t you lean on me on one side and the umbrella on the other? You will seem to be walking normally.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed Gregory on the cheek. “Splendid idea.”

In the past eight weeks, Gregory had become so entrenched in Mycroft’s life that he felt as if he could not function without him. Gregory had remained in Mycroft’s house to help him, but now that he was out of the casts and well enough to take care of himself, Mycroft was worried that Gregory was going to leave. Mycroft’s work schedule would undoubtedly become as busy as it normally was, including regular trips out of the country. He wasn’t sure how often he would be able to see Gregory if they didn’t continue to live together and he didn’t want to be left alone again. He was nervous about bringing the subject up to Gregory, however, not wanting to seem too eager.

In the car on the way home from having his casts removed, Gregory held Mycroft’s hand tightly. “I thought you would never get those off,” he said with a smile. “I’m happy you can walk again.”

“Yes, I am very pleased to have regained the use of my legs. I can return to my full work schedule now.”

“I’m sure you’ve missed intimidating people.” Mycroft looked at Gregory sharply, but relaxed when he saw the telltale twinkle in Gregory’s eyes.

“I will have to practice my disapproving glare.”

“I think casually unimpressed is much more effective for you. It’s quite unnerving.”

“Is it? I’ll have to do a study.”

“Now you sound like Sherlock.”

“Gregory, how dare you. I would never insult you that badly.” Mycroft feigned outrage.

Gregory grinned and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss having you trapped in the house. I expect that I will be seeing a lot less of you now.”

“Well, there’s a lot to be done. I have to deal with our would-be assassins and ensure that the group is properly dismantled. And there’s always the country to run.”

“What happened to ‘a minor position’?”

Mycroft chuckled. “I think we’re rather beyond that, aren’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose we are. How wonderful,” Gregory said, sounding happy.

When they arrived at the house, Mycroft led the way into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. “Are you staying here tonight, then?” he asked, trying to hide the hopefulness from his voice.

“Well, you’re still weak, so it makes sense for me to stay and make sure you’re okay. I assume you’re going into your office tomorrow, wherever that is. You may need help getting ready in the morning. If that’s alright, that is. I don’t want to presume.”

“You are always welcome here, Gregory. Forever, as long as you want.”

“We haven’t really discussed what’s going to happen now that you’re mostly well. I haven’t been home in weeks, not since I went back for some clothes and things. If I never go back, that’s fine with me.”

Mycroft felt his stomach flip flop, hopeful that Gregory was saying what Mycroft thought he was. “Would you like to live here on a more permanent basis?” he asked carefully.

Gregory thought for a moment, a long moment where Mycroft had a sudden fear that he had miscalculated and that Gregory was going to be uncomfortable with how attached Mycroft had become. “I’d love to move in with you, Mycroft,” Gregory said finally, grinning broadly.

“Really?” Mycroft asked in disbelief.

Gregory laughed. “Of course really, you idiot. There’s nothing I’d love more than to move in with you and stay here forever. The thought of going back home to live by myself now is too depressing. I would miss you too much.”

Mycroft smiled broadly. “I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t think I would be able to sleep without you after having you with me so long.”

Gregory wrapped his arms around Mycroft, kissing his neck gently and then burying his face in Mycroft’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. “I love you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled, holding Gregory tightly and kissing the top of his head. “And I love you, Gregory.”

 

**The end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed my first fan fiction!


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